Worth It
by Blue Mitten
Summary: Tag to Chapter 2 of "Broken Bubble". This is the story that Bruce didn't delve into when telling Dick how a nine-year-old boy was able to prove himself to Batman.
1. Chapter 1

_He's never going to agree. He'll just keep saying that I'm too young, too innocent, too…everything._

_You're nine, you __**are**__ too young._

_But I'm not innocent! I watched them die and I want to fight back. He helps people; I want to help him help people._

_You don't even know how to fight!_

_I can learn! He can teach me; I'm already strong._

_You think you're strong enough to fight bad guys? Strong enough to help instead of hinder? He'll have to protect you and he'll get hurt because he won't be as focused on the fight._

_He can __**teach**__ me!_

_And how long do you think __**that**__ will take? How often will Batman have to be off the streets so he can teach some little kid how to fight?_

_That's a good point._

_I know._

_Fine, I'll just do it myself. I can take care of myself; I'll show him!_

_Don't be stupid._

_I know exactly what to do._

_Again, don't be stupid. This is a ridiculous idea. You're going to get yourself killed._

_No, I won't. I can take care of myself!_

_You have no idea what you're doing! Trapeze artists train to fly, not to fight!_

_There's a first time for everything, right?_

_You're being an idiot. Do. Not. Do. This._

Nine-year-old Dick Grayson stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. The internal argument had been raging for five minutes and he was getting a headache. But he was tired of 'helping' by watching screens and reading paperwork. He was relegated to busy work, things to make him feel useful since he didn't know how to fight.

It had been two months since he had discovered the secret. Bruce Wayne, his guardian of less than a year, was _Batman_! The one who answered the Bat-signal, the good guy who took care of all the bad guys, the man who kept Gotham City safe. But he couldn't do it by himself. Gotham was full of criminals, too many for one person to take down every night.

So, Dick was going to find a way to help. Really help, go to the action and fight the bad guys. But he had asked several times and Batman always immediately shut him down. He said he didn't need a partner, that his ward was too young and inexperienced. 'Maybe when you're older' was the most common answer.

But how old was "older"? Probably eighteen and that was so far away! And that first word: maybe. That word usually led to an answer that Dick didn't like – _maybe_ you can go to the Batcave without supervision;_ maybe_ you can watch a "Lord of the Rings" marathon; _maybe_ you can go to a friend's house after school; _maybe_ I'll stop being overprotective.

Exactly none of those things had happened. Bruce had never actually said the last one, but Dick assumed that would be his answer. The first one he understood, especially since he had been pestering his guardian about learning to fight. The second one…well, he was only nine. But the third one? His best friend was the daughter of the _police commissioner_! What could go wrong if he went over there for an hour or two?

Alfred, the Wayne butler, was calling him so Dick sighed and left the bathroom. It was dinner time so he had no more time to come to a decision. Actually, his decision was made; now he just had to plan it out. Who? And how?

It needed to happen soon because Dick was getting restless. Being in the Batcave was becoming more boring than thrilling. Batman was impressive but not as exciting now that the nine-year-old knew the man's secret identity. He wanted action and he was going to prove the hero wrong. Dick Grayson could take care of himself, whether Batman liked it or not.

* * *

_He needs to learn to take care of himself anyway. Just some self-defense moves, in case he ever gets kidnapped._

_KIDNAPPED?!_

_He's the ward of a billionaire – the perfect ransom target. Criminals won't expect him to defend himself because he's so small. He'll have an advantage._

_I won't allow him to get kidnapped._

_You're not with him every second of every day. You can't control everything in his life._

_Point taken. Self-defense, that's all. Basic moves that anyone should be able to do._

_Exactly. Nothing fancy or difficult, just enough to keep him safe._

_In the gym, not the Batcave. He's too eager and teaching him down there will make him want it even more._

_Of course the gym – he's nine!_

_Just keep it simple. I guess I can do that._

Bruce Wayne was pacing in his bedroom. His young ward had asked again this morning. Why did the boy want to go out and fight? Why couldn't he just want to be a normal kid? What was so wrong with going to bed at a decent time instead of going out into the streets to find and take down criminals?

For the eight hundredth time, the billionaire wished that Dick had never discovered the Batcave. There was nothing he could do about it now, however. He had thought that the boy would be content to virtually watch Batman's back and help with crime reports. And the nine-year-old had been satisfied, for all of two days. Then it became "train me, I can help, let me go out and fight the bad guys" over and over for the last two months.

He was too young, too innocent, too vulnerable, too…everything. A _child_ shouldn't be out on the streets at all hours of the night, fighting criminals and getting hurt. Because that's what Bruce knew would happen. They would be taking down a villain and suddenly a henchman, or the villain himself, would be taking down Dick instead.

Batman couldn't – _wouldn't_ – let that happen. And the only way to prevent it was to keep the kid safe at home. Training a nine-year-old and allowing him to be a crime-fighter was almost the stupidest thing Bruce had ever heard. Dick wasn't an idiot – the idea certainly was – but the boy didn't seem to understand why the hero was refusing to do it.

"I'm trying to keep you safe!" the man whispered angrily. "Why can't you just accept that and move on?!"

Alfred was calling him down for dinner and Bruce shook his head. He needed to think of something to talk about. Every day that Dick asked for training, dinner conversation began with some sort of statistic about something that Batman had failed to do: take down the villain and all _eight_ henchmen; save the kid being held hostage by a villain only by sacrificing the adult in the same situation at the other end of the street; chase down every criminal when they scattered in all different directions.

These were all things, Dick would argue, that could be rectified by having a partner. Some of the points Bruce had to concede were true, although he would never say that to his ward. Dick was _nine_!

With a giant sigh, the man left his bedroom and strode toward the stairs. Dick suddenly popped out in front of him, grinning mischievously before turning and racing to the bannister.

"Dick!" Bruce warned, his tone outlined with a tinge of concern.

One last grin back later, the nine-year-old was sliding down the railing in his socks, teetering precariously but adjusting his body well.

Bruce knew he wasn't going to make it down in time. Not even Batman would be able to beat the boy downstairs, especially since Dick had a good head start.

But maybe he could make it before his ward flew into the door. Because that's what the boy was doing: using the bannister as a ski jump. He would be airborne for several seconds, just enough time for the man to make it down the stairs.

And Bruce was right. Just before sliding off the railing, Dick bent his knees and tucked his elbows by his sides. As he reached the end, the nine-year-old pushed off with a whooping cry of excitement.

The man saw the boy's expression change from delight to concern. Dick had just noticed that the front door was shut. Bruce watched in amazement as his ward curled into a ball. What was he trying to do?

* * *

Dick raced out of his room when he heard his guardian's door open. There was no way he was going to allow the man to beat him downstairs. But Bruce had long legs and could move quickly. A nine-year-old wouldn't be able to win a footrace against a man who ran around a large city every night.

So, he went for the railing instead. Bruce called his name, Dick glanced back with a smirk then jumped on the bannister and began sliding. He was going a little faster than he was comfortable with but decided that jumping off the end would slow him down enough to land easily.

Then he got another idea. He could fly off like a ski jumper! Across the foyer and through the door and straight into a perfect landing on the soft grass outside! This was going to be so amazing!

He was reaching the end of the railing so Dick bent his knees to prepare for the jump. Just before he toppled onto the floor, the boy pushed off with a loud laugh. And then he noticed it. This was something he hadn't thought about: the front door was closed.

Fear raced through his eyes but he pushed the feeling away. He was a Flying Grayson and knew how to control his body in the air. If he could rotate quick enough, a front flip would cause his feet to hit the door and then he could push off into a backflip. It would have to be an arched layout, which would be ugly, but it would do the job. So, he tucked in and prepared for impact.

* * *

Bruce stared in astonishment as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Dick had somehow flipped forward enough to hit his feet on the door instead of his head. But now the boy was arching back and the man could tell that this trick wouldn't work. His ward was too close to the ground to finish whatever flip he was trying to do. It would be his head landing on the hard marble of the foyer.

Throwing his arms in front of him, Bruce ran forward, hoping he was fast enough to get there in time.

* * *

He had underestimated his height and now Dick really _was_ scared. The floor was too close for him to land on his feet, but maybe he could rotate far enough to land on his stomach instead of his head.

This time when he braced for impact he closed his eyes. He really didn't want to see the black and white marble as it rushed toward him.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong arms instead of an unforgiving floor. His eyes flipped open and the breath whooshed out of him. The nine-year-old went from horizontal to vertical and the arms, which he knew belonged to Bruce, tightened around his torso. There was a loud sigh of relief and then his feet softly hit the floor.

"What were you thinking?!"

The words, outlined with both anger and concern, flew into his ears like rockets. Instead of answering, Dick threw his arms around his guardian's waist and rested his forehead on the muscular stomach.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he felt a large hand land gently on his head.

"Okay," the man above him stated quietly, ruffling the dark air and releasing another sigh of relief.

"I just wanted to beat you."

"I know, chum, but – if you really want to use the bannister – slide on your backside instead of your feet."

"I can do it again?!" the boy asked excitedly as he lifted his head.

"No, Master Dick, you may not do that again."

Alfred's firm voice came from behind them and both boys turned around. Bruce smiled sheepishly when he saw the slight glare and raised eyebrows of his butler. Dick dropped his eyes to the ground but he, too, was grinning.

"And you, Master Bruce, should not encourage this type of behavior."

"I wasn't _encouraging_ it, Alfred!" Bruce exclaimed but the butler shook his head.

"I distinctly heard the words 'if you really want to use the bannister', sir. How does that qualify as 'not encouraging' it?"

"Sorry," both Dick and Bruce stated.

"Dinner is ready, gentlemen, so please enter the dining room. Master Dick, please fix your hair so that you will be presentable at the table."

The boy's cheeks reddened slightly as the warm hand was removed from his head. Lifting it, he found Bruce staring down at him with a tiny grin. The man ran his hands through his ward's hair until it was "presentable" then grabbed the small hand in his larger one.

Leaning down, Bruce whispered, "Just sit, instead, and maybe do it when Alfred…"

"Master Bruce!"

Bruce grimaced then stood up, forcing an innocent expression on his face. The butler was standing by the dining room door, holding it open and waiting politely for his charges to enter.

"Do you think I am deaf, sir?"

"No, Alfred, I was just telling him…"

"Do not lie to me, Master Bruce," Alfred stated strictly.

Dick giggled and Bruce glanced down.

"Traitor," he stated affectionately and began walking toward the dining room.

The nine-year-old squeezed the large hand of his guardian and giggled again.

Alfred nearly rolled his eyes. For a man who took down hardened criminals every night, his eldest charge was acting very immature. But the boy was good for both of them and the butler smiled. Now if only they could get Dick to stop asking to become a crime-fighter….

* * *

**Two hours later:**

"It's Penguin, Batman," Dick said through the Bat-communicator receiver machine. "The guards at the State Pen just turned on the siren."

"How do you know?" Batman asked, his tone gruff and full of surprise.

"I'm good with computers," the boy answered vaguely.

There was no way he was going to tell _Batman_ that he could tap into both the prison's and the police station's phone systems. Or that he could hack his way into the video cameras outside the prison walls.

"He's going…probably going north."

"Why do you say that?" the hero asked suspiciously. The nine-year-old knew something, that was obvious. The pause had been short but blatant.

"I just, um, don't penguins like the north?"

"No, chum, most penguins live south of the Equator."

"Oh."

There was a longer pause this time; Dick wasn't sure how to explain his knowledge without admitting what he was doing. Then an idea popped into his mind.

"Isn't the north gate closest to maximum security?" he asked innocently. "It wouldn't make sense for him to go all the way around the prison to escape, right?"

That was a good point and Batman grunted his agreement. The line went quiet and Dick sighed in relief.

"Why and how, young sir, are you looking at the view from a video camera on the eastern side of the State Pen? And is that the Penguin waddling away toward the forest on the north side?"

Alfred's voice startled him. Quickly pasting a grin on his face so that Alfred wouldn't suspect anything, Dick spun around in the chair.

"Yep, it's Penguin," the boy answered, ignoring the first question. "Batman knows he's going north, he'll catch the villain quickly."

"Please answer the first question, Master Dick."

"The, um, commissioner sent me a video?" he answered, both his face and voice full of guilt. He was caught and both of them knew it.

"Where did you learn how to hack, young sir?"

Alfred had his eyebrows raised and his hands clasped behind his back. He wondered how long the young boy had been hacking into regular cameras instead of just watching the Bat-cameras spread throughout the city.

"Here," Dick whispered.

"Here?!" Alfred exclaimed, astonished at the confession.

"Well, I have nothing else to do most of the time so I've played around in the Bat-computer a little bit. I accidentally found my way into a camera by Police Headquarters so I just figured out what I did and went from there."

The nine-year-old shrugged as Alfred stared at him in amazement. The man knew the boy was smart but even the intelligent Batman hadn't figured out how to tap into any outside computers or phones or cameras. Dick had a hidden talent and the butler burst out laughing.

"What?" the boy asked defensively.

"You are a constant surprise, young sir. You have remarkable skills. Master Batman has not yet been able to do that, although he has tried several times."

"He's going to be mad, that's why he doesn't know."

"I doubt very much that he will be angry with you, Master Dick. He might sound that way at first, but he will immediately understand how helpful this will be for him. You will be able to instantly tell him the location of almost any nefarious activity, making it easier for him to stop it."

"He's going to be mad," Dick repeated. There was no way Batman was going to like this. Especially since a nine-year-old had figured it out before him.

"You must tell him, young sir. He will eventually find out; he's called the World's Greatest Detective for a reason. It will be better for all of us if you tell him yourself."

Dick shrugged again and whirled the chair around to face the images coming from the camera by the State Pen. An idea popped into his head as he watched Penguin waddle into the darkness of the forest. This was the perfect opportunity.

"Well," the boy said with a yawn, "Batman'll find him. I'm going to bed, Alfred, unless you need me for something."

"An early night will be good for you, Master Dick. I'll see you in the morning."

With a nod and another yawn, the nine-year-old walked toward the tunnel leading to the service elevator. Soon he was up in the Manor but, instead of turning left and going upstairs, Dick boldly walked out the front door.

Penguin wasn't as dangerous as some of the other villains. He never used bombs or real weapons, as far as Dick knew anyway. And so, nine-year-old Dick Grayson set out to get himself kidnapped so that he could escape on his own and prove himself to Batman.


	2. Chapter 2

The view from the prison camera that Dick had hacked into was still showing on one of the Bat-computer's screens. Batman needed to hear it from the boy, not discover it on his own, so Alfred walked over and flicked off that screen.

How Dick had figured it out was a mystery. He had been "playing" in the Bat-computer and just discovered it? That didn't make sense; Batman had worked on it several times in the last month. The nine-year-old was smart, but certainly not as intelligent as a grown man with years of various experiences under his belt.

Then again, Dick really had nothing else to do – his basic job was staring at screens on the machine. Obviously, the boy was bored and had decided to make things more interesting for himself. What better way to entertain yourself than figuring out how to do something that even _Batman_ couldn't do?

Alfred sighed and shook his head. The boy was right, Batman wasn't going to be happy about this. But at least it was diverting Dick's attention from fighting. Somewhat, anyway. He asked at least three times a week but that was better than the every day that it used to be.

With another sigh, the butler began wiping down the keyboard and screens. Perhaps he shouldn't allow Dick to have cookies while in the Batcave. The child had left bits of chocolate chips all over the machine. But everything was washable so there was no harm done. Besides, the cookies kept him in the chair instead of wandering around and ending up on the training mat.

* * *

The quickest way away from Wayne Manor, and the least conspicuous, was through the forest just outside the eastern gate. However, that was also in the opposite direction of Penguin's current location. Should he risk the long run across the front lawn, under the watchful eyes of both Bat-cameras and regular cameras? Or should he go directly to the forest, where there was only one Bat-camera and less lawn?

Dick decided to go west. There were more cameras and he would be in view for several minutes instead of less than one minute, but he would also be closer to Penguin. So, with a quick glance around, the nine-year-old sprinted across the front lawn, staying as close to the walls as possible.

He was halfway to the road that would take him toward Gotham City when he thought of something. The western road joined another road about a mile away from the Manor. And that other road just happened to be the one that the Batmobile used to get to the Batcave.

"East it is," Dick whispered as he turned around and sprinted toward the forest.

He made it into the trees in less than forty-five seconds but didn't stop running. The nine-year-old knew he needed to be as far away as possible by the time Batman returned. It would be easy for any car, but especially the Batmobile, to catch up to him if he slowed down even a little.

The trees thickened and the already dark night became darker. Shadows danced around him, and the branches seemed to be reaching for him. Dick thought about going back but immediately shoved the thought out of his mind. He had to prove that he was worthy to be a crime-fighter. And the only way that he could do that was to escape from a villain by himself.

* * *

**Two hours later:**

The Batmobile coasted quietly into its parking spot and Batman climbed out. He instantly took off his cowl, sweat glistening on his brow and running down his face.

"Did you find Penguin, sir?"

"No," Batman replied, anger outlining his tone. "I went through the entire area on the north side of the State Pen but there wasn't even a trail of footprints! He just…disappeared."

Alfred hummed in response as he took the blue cowl. It needed to be washed immediately so the sweat wouldn't fade into stains.

"Is Dick in bed?"

"Yes, Master Bruce, he retired early tonight."

"He knew something, Alfred. I could hear it in his voice."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"He said that Penguin was going north and there was complete confidence outlining the words. Then there was a quick pause and he amended the statement."

"Quite a mystery, Master Bruce. But perhaps the interrogation can wait until tomorrow. He is undoubtedly asleep by now and young boys need their rest."

"Of course, Alfred. I'm going to take a shower; it's humid out there."

"I'll get you some refreshment, sir."

Nodding his thanks, Bruce strode to the changing area and turned on the water.

* * *

Dick was wandering through the back alleys on the edge of Gotham City. He was exhausted, having run through almost the entire forest before feeling like he could slow down. The boy didn't know this part of the city very well, but he did know that Bruce would never allow him to visit the area, especially not by himself.

He could hear whispers coming from buildings all around him. The only people who would be awake at this hour, he assumed, were criminals. But he wanted a villain, not just a criminal. However, the only villain that he was sure was free was Penguin. Unless Batman had found and captured him.

The boy was staring at the ground and so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the flabby man who suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Well, well, well," the man grunted softly. "What do we have here?"

Dick's head shot up and fear raced through his eyes. The guy in front of him was tall but he was all fat and no muscle.

_I'm faster._

That was Dick's only thought before he turned around and raced away. He heard heavy breathing behind him, so he increased his speed. This was not the kind of man he wanted to capture him. The nine-year-old was looking for Penguin, not some chunky criminal who smelled like a skunk that had eaten moldy cheese.

The footsteps faded and Dick breathed a sigh of relief. It turned into a gasp of surprise when a strong arm reached from the darkness on his right. A beefy hand wrapped itself around Dick's right arm and yanked him into the darkness.

"It's not safe around here for a young kid."

The voice was soft but slightly threatening. Dick tried to shake his arm loose but the grip only tightened. He was pulled farther into wherever they were and this time his entire torso was wrapped in a strong hold. His breath caught in his throat and the nine-year-old felt his heart rate increase. Fear filled his mind and he realized that this had been a very stupid idea.

So, Dick began to struggle. Maybe he could still get out of this and race back to the safety of Wayne Manor, Bruce and Batman. Proving himself didn't seem as important now; he just wanted to stay alive.

"You're not going anywhere, boy. Stop struggling or I'll knock you out. Or maybe I'll just break one of your scrawny legs so you can't run."

Dick immediately stopped moving – he really didn't want that to happen. A broken leg would make it much harder to escape.

He was suddenly tossed out of the tight hold and he landed hard on the floor. It was tile, he realized as the breath whooshed out of him. Dick began gasping, trying to pull air into his lungs, and his entire body began trembling.

"Don't panic, little one."

This voice was…Dick could only describe it as whiny. He smelled the distinct odor of cigarette smoke and heard a cackle that sounded slightly like a duck. No, he grinned through his fear, it sounded like a penguin.

* * *

**The Batcave – 15 minutes later:**

Bruce found a small sandwich and large glass of water on the table by the Bat-analyzer when he emerged from the changing area. Alfred always knew exactly what he needed, and Bruce would be forever grateful for his faithful butler. The man was an invaluable asset to both Batman and Bruce Wayne.

"Sir!"

Bruce was startled at the loud exclamation. Alfred rarely shouted so it must be something important. The butler rounded the corner of the service elevator tunnel, his white hair in disarray and alarm written all over his face.

"He's gone, sir! I went to check on him and he's gone!"

Bruce's eyes grew wide. Dick was missing, probably kidnapped right under their noses!

"Master Bruce!" Alfred yelled.

The man realized he was just standing there, holding the glass of water. He dropped the object and raced to the Bat-camera viewing machine. Alfred joined him mere seconds later and both men waited impatiently for the machine to warm up.

Twenty seconds later Bruce began flipping through the views from the different locations. It didn't take long to find the boy. He was racing across the lawn but abruptly turned around and sprinted toward the forest. And he was alone; he hadn't been taken by a criminal looking for ransom money.

Bruce glanced at the time stamp – two hours and seventeen minutes ago. The boy had a huge head start, was fast and obviously determined to do…something.

"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured, distress in his voice. "Sir, he wants to fight."

"He's going searching for trouble," Bruce growled in agreement. "Dang it, Dick, what are you doing?! You're going to get yourself killed!"

"He's not here, Master Bruce. Perhaps you should begin looking for him instead of yelling at a two-hour-old video, sir."

Shaking his head in anger, Bruce raced back to the changing area and put on a new Bat-suit. Maybe his ward was lost in the forest – it was large and dense and nearing two o'clock in the morning.

"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured again.

Bruce ran out of the changing area; obviously his butler had seen something else.

"The views have been skipping from Bat-camera to Bat-camera, sir, and Master Dick emerged from the forest a little over an hour ago."

"Sh…"

"Master Bruce," Alfred warned angrily.

"Shoot, Alfred, that's what I was going to say!"

"I'm sure that's true, sir," the butler replied drily.

Slightly irritated with his butler's tone, Batman turned toward the Batmobile. He ran to the driver's side, nearly jumped in, and gunned the engine to life.

"He wants to fight, sir!" Alfred reminded him loudly. "He watches you go to Crime Alley almost every night!"

There was a grunt of acknowledgement and then the Batmobile shot out of the tunnel like a cheetah chasing a gazelle.

"Oh, Master Dick," Alfred whispered as he dropped onto the nearest chair. "What have you done?"

* * *

"So, who are you and what are you doing _here_?"

The long black coat, purple top hat and waddling walk were proof enough for Dick. He was in the clutches of the villain known as Penguin. His heart was thumping wildly and, for the fifteenth time since he had been captured, the nine-year-old wished that he hadn't been so stupid. Getting kidnapped was not the best idea he had ever had. It was, in fact, the worst. Especially since he was being held a foot off the ground – one strong arm wrapped around his chest and another across his waist.

"I asked you a question, kid!" the villain shouted.

A large fist landed a heavy punch on his right cheek and Dick's ears began ringing. The villain in front of him turned into a fuzzy blob and a gasp of pain slipped out of the boy's mouth.

"Tie him up," Penguin growled.

Dick was released and he dropped to his knees. Suddenly, he was snatched off the ground and shoved roughly onto a cold, metal chair. His arms were yanked behind him and his wrists tied together tightly with some kind of scratchy material. The position was painful, even for his flexible shoulders.

The nine-year-old thought about kicking out at his captor but remembered that the first guy who had pulled him into…wherever they were…was willing to break one of his legs. Escaping was the most important thing on Dick's mind; he couldn't afford that kind of injury.

"Talk to me, kid," the villain demanded. "Or it won't be only your cheek that gets a bruise."

Penguin cackled again and Dick cringed. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, but he would just have to deal with it. He was going to escape and prove that he was ready to become a crime-fighter.

"I'm just a kid," the nine-year-old replied.

"Obviously," Penguin snapped. "But who do you belong to? Where do you live?"

There was a long pause and the villain became impatient. He nodded to someone that Dick couldn't see. A short but _very_ muscular man came into the boy's view and Dick's blue eyes widened. Maybe he should answer. But he didn't get the chance to decide.

A meaty fist shoved itself into his stomach and the nine-year-old suddenly couldn't breathe. He began gasping, frantically trying to pull oxygen into his lungs. But it wasn't working, and Dick noticed black spots dancing across his vision. That was probably bad, but he couldn't be sure. Thinking was fairly difficult, and panic was racing throughout his body.

And then he could breathe again. It was an unexpected change – he had felt like he was about to die – but one that made Dick extremely grateful.

The fist was raised again and the nine-year-old shook his head. Fear filled his eyes like water in a plugged sink.

"Bruce!" he cried out, his entire body trembling from both pain and alarm.

"Last name," Penguin commanded with a grin. There was only one Bruce in Gotham City, that the villain knew of, anyway. However, he wanted to hear it from the kid's mouth.

"Bruce, uh, Grayson."

Dick couldn't do it; he couldn't name his guardian because everything would be ruined. He had to escape on his own and a ransom call to Bruce would make that impossible.

"Grayson?" Penguin murmured. "Never heard of him. Are you _sure_ that's his last name?"

It could be, Dick reasoned to himself. Maybe when he grew up he could adopt Bruce and then the man could be Bruce Wayne Grayson. Since that was a plausible – although very unlikely – excuse, he wouldn't be lying.

"Yes," the boy confirmed with a confident nod.

"Well, since I've never heard of him, you're not really much use to me, are you? He must not be rich so a ransom demand would be a waste of time. What to do with you, then?"

Dick grimaced; he hadn't thought of that. What if Penguin just decided to kill him before he could escape? That would also ruin his plan to prove himself to Batman.

Another cackle startled Dick out of his thoughts. He had been staring at the ground but the sound caused him to lift his head. Penguin was pacing in front of him, swinging his long cigarette holder around in the air. Ash was flying everywhere and the nine-year-old sneezed.

The villain stopped pacing when he heard the sound. He grinned at the young boy as an idea filled his mind.

"I will train you, kid, to become my henchman. The police won't fight a _child_. Neither will Batman. You only have a few muscles so my goons will have to beef you up before teaching you to fight."

Dick's eyes widened again – he was going to learn how to fight! From a villain's henchmen, unfortunately, but at least he would have the skills to escape when the time came!

"Scared or excited, kid? I can't read that expression. It doesn't really matter, your training begins tomorrow. You have about three hours before we start so I suggest you get some sleep."

With that, Penguin and his goons turned around and left. The last goon flipped a switch and Dick was left alone, tied up and in complete darkness. His cheek hurt, his stomach hurt, his shoulders hurt and it was way too dark. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep.


End file.
